Many Unhappy Returns
by Pegasus
Summary: Based on 'Days of Future Past' from the animated series. A...more lighthearted look at time travel - with a relatively serious end. A departure fic for me - have no sense of humour, so can't write it... C & C appreciated!


**DISCLAIMER: The characters in this story belong to Marvel. No infringement intended, blah,blah,blah. Please, please, please do not reproduce this story in part or in whole anywhere without at least asking me first! Thank you...**

email me at [Sarah.Watkins@onyx.net][1]

**Many Unhappy Returns**

_The reasoning behind this fic is that after watching Days of Future Past on the animated series, I wondered exactly WHY Bishop's trip back in time failed. I had my own reason for it, which is revealed in the serious end to this comedic story_

**~ ~ ~**

He'd hated the first time and he hated it this time. Entering the time portal was enough to make anyone regret ever having been born. There was a fleeting sensation, a feeling of being in existence at all possible points in time and space - didn't do much for one's sense of significance, that was for sure. Not to mention the disorientation on re-entry.

The impression of time rushing by in a God-almighty hurry was bound to leave you feeling a little - if not a lot - nauseous, and Bishop was glad when it was finally over. 

He would have been MORE glad if he could remember just why he was here. 

Clenched tightly in his fist was a piece of paper. 

"Name: Bishop. Task: Stop Self from Causing Destruction of World. Warning: DON'T INTERACT WITH OTHER SELF!" 

Oh, to live in the information age was truly a miracle, Bishop thought, sourly. What the hell was that supposed to mean? 

* * *

Through a series of misadventures FAR too long and unbelievable to include here, Bishop finally found himself at Professor X's mansion. It was familiar. He'd definitely been here before. Was going to have been here before. 

Ouch. 

And now, here he was, sat at a table with a group of completely familiar strangers. He didn't know any of them, yet knew them all. Shorty with the long fingernails. The INCREDIBLY irritating kid with the firework fixation. They were all just as recognisable as if he'd already met them. Which, of course, he had.

Ouch. 

This temporal stuff took some getting used to. 

Bishop looked around the X-Men one at a time. They were exactly as he had remembered them. Would remember them. The whole temporal physics thing was making his head ache. It had only been 24 hours his time - and his original self hadn't even arrived back here yet. 

The X-Men in turn stared suspiciously back at the big stranger. 

Glares locked, wills battled. Finally, Bishop opened his mouth to speak. The X-Men as a single unit, tensed, ready for action. 

"Anyone got any aspirin?" asked the big man. 

* * *

"So let me get this straight," said Scott, his sunglassed-gaze firmly fixed on Bishop. "You say you're from the future, right?" 

"Right."

"And the future's basically gone pear-shaped and you're here to stop it happening again, right?" 

"Right."

"And you're already going to have shown up and tried to stop an assassination attempt, right?" The future perfect tense. A whole new market sector for Hallmark. "You will have been going to have a Happy Birthday!" It never caught on. 

Jesus. 

"Right." The guy was so anally retentive that Bishop could see him squeezing his butt cheeks together.

"And YOU"RE here to stop your other self from stopping an assassination, right?" 

Bishop made a noise somewhere between a growl and a laugh. It sounded suspiciously like Wolverine clearing his nose. So much so, in fact, that Storm automatically handed Logan a handkerchief. "Listen, Cyclops. I know this all sounds crazy, but really, you guys have to believe me." 

"Oh, like, sure," piped up Wolverine, folding his arms across his chest. "This is the most convincing story I heard since Gambit tried to deny puttin' my hamster in that last batch of gumbo." 

Fortunately, Gambit was currently not present to comment. Had he been, it would have necessitated a NC-17 rating. 

"Wolverine, please." The Eyeball was off again. Bishop stared at him, memorizing every line in his face, every expression, ready for creating a voodoo doll on his return. He couldn't ever remember meeting anyone so annoying. Oh, yes he could. Cyclops.

"Now look," he said, when he was sure he had their undivided attention. He glanced down at his watch. "In a little under twenty minutes I...that is...uh..another me...is going to turn up on your doorstep and claim to have lost his memory." Good idea of Forge's to give him the handwritten note this time, he grinned inside the confines of his mind. "He'll suddenly remember why he's here when Gambit turns up. Apparently, he'll claim, Gambit is going to assassinate someone..."

He paused to allow for the gasps of horror he knew would come. 

They did. The X-Men were nothing if not predictable. 

"And he'll then claim he's here to stop Gambit assassinating whoever it is he's meant to assassinate." Bishop looked around the confused sea of faces. "You guys with me so far? Good." 

There were a few nods and a few embarrassed 'um' noises. 

"OK. So, the deal here is…I…uh, that is, the other me, is successful and the assassination doesn't happen. After the confrontation with Mystique…" 

More gasps. 

"…Rogue breaks my transponder and I return - he returns…to the future. Things haven't changed. It was the wrong event. Forge puts Plan B into play. I'm Plan B." Bishop massaged his temples. Explaining temporal physics was not good for you. He made a mental note to have it added to the 'mustn't do this again' list that was steadily growing on the fridge. "I'm the Bishop from 24 hours into the OTHER Bishop's future." Was that it? Yes. "I have to stop Bishop Mark One from preventing the assassination. Forge's latest theory is that the assassination definitely has to happen. The critical thing this time, he believes, is that you all know it wasn't Gambit who did the assassinating." Assassinating? Was that a word? Bishop neither knew nor cared. He took a long drain of the coffee that someone had thoughtfully provided.

"OK," said Cyclops, slowly. "So when your - uh - other self DOES show up, what do we say? How do we react to him? Can't you just warn him yourself?"

"Oooh, no," said Bishop, nearly dropping his coffee. "If I meet myself, we'll both cease to exist and the temporal aftershock will probably destroy the universe. Apparently." He shrugged. "On the other hand, we could both comment on each other's dress sense and walk away wiser. I for one would rather not take the risk." 

"So we have to pretend that we believe him?"

"Uh-huh."

"And we have to keep him from seeing you?"

"Uh-huh." 

"Why don't you just go back now?" 

"I have to make sure the assassination doesn't happen. Then, I'm afraid, the other me is kind of doomed to a perpetual loop. He gets back to the future and 24 hours later will come back as me. Trust me, Cyclops, time travel may SOUND glamorous, but it's a major pain in the ass. I'll be stuck in the loop until such time as I - that is, THIS me - returns." 

There was silence as the X-Men absorbed all this information. With a very slight strain of effort, you could hear the brain gears turning. 

"You tellin' me you guys seriously believe this dude?" Logan stood up again, waving his knuckles threateningly in Bishop's general direction. His claws slid out one at a time. A neat trick: he'd been practising in front of the mirror. 

Before anyone could answer, Bishop glanced again at his watch. "It's up to you," he said, addressing everyone in general. "In ten minutes time I…uh…he…will arrive here. I really should be getting out of the way." He got to his feet. 

"We HAVE to believe him, Logan," said Cyclops, seriously. "What if he IS telling the truth?" 

"An' if he's tellin' a pack of porkies? Man, I don't want to be taken for a complete lemon." Logan's claws slid back into his knuckles, but the murderous look on his face remained where it was. "I mean, c'mon. Does any of this sound REMOTELY plausible to any of you?"

"Sounds plausible to me," said Bishop, hopefully, willing the others to take his side over this short-arsed whinger who needed a damned good hairstylist. "Totally plausible." 

He met Logan's gaze defiantly.

The other X-Men remained silent, watching the two men. This was better than Wimbledon. Logan. Bishop. Logan. Advantage Bishop. Break for oranges and new balls. 

Finally, Logan could stand the tension no more. "OK," he growled. "But if this guy is lyin' to us - I swear to any gods who might be listenin' right now that he's going to SUFFER." 

(There was a brief KA-SNIKT as Logan emphasised his point.) 

Bishop opened his mouth to speak again, when there was a loud hammering on the door. "That'll be me," he said, conversationally. "I'll just get myself out of the way so I don't see me, and then I'll work out what I can do about stopping me." 

Blink. Blink. 

* * *

As far as Bishop Mark One was concerned, everything was going swimmingly. He'd tried to kill Gambit on the innocent Cajun's arrival at the mansion. Bishop Mark Two had pursed his lips. Clumsy, unprovoked attack. But then again, he should've been quicker and killed the Cajun when he'd had the chance. But then, Bishop Mark Two already knew what grief Gambit was going to give his other self. 

The arrival of Bishop Mark One had given BM2 quite a shock. It was, he'd assumed up to this point, going to be rather like seeing yourself in a mirror. But he was watching himself speak words he had spoken, do things he had done.

It hurt. 

Bishop Mark Two withdrew into his hiding place and began to ponder exactly why his mission had failed. Stopping the assassination hadn't been enough, it seemed. This latest theory was that he had to stop his other self from stopping the assassination…and that had meant sending himself backwards in time for a SECOND attempt. According to Forge, they had to keep trying every eventuality until they isolated the single incident that had caused the devastation of the world. 

That could be anything from a major event like the assassination, to a minor one - like a butterfly flapping its wings in the Amazon rain forest. 

Chaos Theory and Time Travel 101. Bishop KNEW he should have paid more attention in school. 

* * *

Job complete. 

This time, the assassination had been stopped. Rogue, acting on instructions, had sent him screaming back to his own time. Bishop Mark Two had stepped in and fired the killing shot himself. He had then activated his own transponder, returning himself. 

He had not been met with a heroes welcome. 

"I've done it," said Forge, looking carefully at Bishop. "I have worked out what the event was that caused this." He gestured vaguely out the window.

"Welcome back, Bishop," muttered the big man. "So what do we do to make it right?" 

"It'll never be right," said Forge, sadly, staring up at Wolverine's adamantium skeleton. "No matter what we do. Except…" 

"What? WHAT?" Bishop was frantic. 

Forge turned to look at him. "We caused this," he said. "You and I. By sending you back in time, we gave the X-Men inadvertent knowledge of the future. Faced with that knowledge, they resigned themselves unconsciously to their own fate. It is what we would refer to as a vicious circle - footsteps in the sand. They followed their preordained destiny without question." 

"But surely I can go back and stop my other two selves from ever interacting with the X-Men?"

"Not possible. That would mean either killing yourself, which is of course, an impossibility, because if you kill yourself, you wouldn't be here now to come back to k…." 

"Yeah, yeah," said Bishop, hurriedly.

"Or you face yourself…yourselves…and tell them the truth." Forge's face fell. "That MIGHT work, but there is a catch."

"Which is?" 

"You would have to remain behind. Without ever interacting with the X-Men. And there's no guarantee that it's the solution." 

There was silence. 

"I have no choice," said Bishop finally, bitterly. "I have to try. But I'll never know if it worked or not. I'll never see you again. Never know this world as it is…" He trailed off, looking out the window and the devastation that was his home. 

"When do I leave?" he said. 

**(c) S Watkins, 2000**

   [1]: mailto:sarah.watkins@onyx.net



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